Love at the lips was touch

    As sweet as I could bear；

    And once that seemed too much；

    I lived on air

    That crossed me from sweet things，

    The flow of——was it musk¹

    From hidden grapevine springs

    Downhill at dusk？

    I had the swirl² and ache

    From sprays of honeysuckle

    That when they're gathered shake

    Dew on the knuckle³.

    I craved⁵ strong sweets， but those

    Seemed strong when I was young；

    The petal⁶ of the rose

    It was that stung.

    Now no joy but lacks salt，

    That is not dashed with pain

    And weariness and fault；

    I crave⁴ the stain

    Of tears， the aftermark

    Of almost too much love，

    The sweet of bitter bark

    And burning clove⁷.

    When stiff and sore and scarred

    I take away my hand

    From leaning on it hard

    In grass and sand，

    The hurt is not enough：

    I long for weight and strength

    To feel the earth as rough

    To all my length.